


So ist es Immer

by gennuare



Category: NCT (Band), SuperM (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - War, Angst, Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten is Whipped, Established Relationship, Fluff, Lee Taeyong-centric, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Taeyong is a nurse, Ten is a pilot, but it's not their fault, they're in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-29 00:14:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30147774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gennuare/pseuds/gennuare
Summary: Despite his aversion to heights and weapons, Taeyong finds himself falling in love with a man who lives, quite literally, with his head up in the clouds.
Relationships: Lee Taeyong/Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten
Comments: 16
Kudos: 33





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes on this work: first of all, although it is a linear narrative, between each scene a few days or a couple of weeks may have elapsed. I chose not to include timestamps on purpose, so it's completely up to you and your imagination :)
> 
> And a brief glossary about a few terms I included here, in case you need it:
> 
> • Wing: unit of command in military aviation. It usually comprises three squadrons.  
> • Squadron: unit comprising a number of military aircraft and their aircrews, usually of the same type, typically with 12 to 24 aircraft.  
> • Dogfight: aerial battle between fighter aircraft conducted at close range.  
> • Night fighter: fighter aircraft adapted for use at night or in other times of bad visibility.

Taeyong woke up to the smell of coffee.

Coffee?

He opened his eyes and blinked a few times, trying to get used to the dark. Judging by the soft, greyish glow that sneaked in through the space between the floor of the tent and the canvas that served as a door, Taeyong could tell that the sun was about to rise. 

Yawning, Taeyong rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands and propped himself up on his elbows. His brain was thick with sleep, but he suddenly felt more awake than ever before when a hand offered him a thermos. With the cap nowhere to be seen, a good amount of steam danced its way out and warmed up the cold tip of his nose. He looked up from the metal bottle to the face of the man who was offering it to him, sitting comfortably on a wooden stool by his bed.

"Good morning," the man smiled, his tired eyes reflecting the first light of the morning. "Did you sleep well?"

Taeyong properly sat on the bed, accepting the thermos but not letting go of the man's hand. He squeezed it once, lightly, his thumb gently caressing the callused palm. 

"When did you get back?"

"Just now." Taeyong hummed in acknowledgement but he also must have made a face, because the other man chuckled quietly. "I slept like an hour or two before coming back here, don't worry."

"I didn't say anything."

"You're like an open book, love."

"Is that so?" Taeyong asked, amused. He let go of the man's hand to properly grab the thermos, letting the subtle heat it radiated warm his own hands, cold by the icy morning air. "And what kind of book am I?"

"The best I've ever read," he replied, not missing a beat. Taeyong giggled. "Now hurry and drink your coffee before it gets cold."

"Too early to be bossing around," Taeyong pointed out, but he complied anyway. He took a sip of the hot beverage, widening his eyes in surprise when he tasted something sweeter and way softer than the sharp coffee flavour he was expecting. "Is this...?"

"A latte, yes."

"It's sweet," he crooned, gulping down almost half of the thermos practically without stopping to breathe, visibly happy. "Where did you get this?"

"I dropped by the East military base before coming back here." Taeyong narrowed his eyes. Ten had left two days ago to take part in a reconnaissance mission, and he also had went to the East military base? When was the last time that that man slept at all? "They had some milk and sugar left, so I took some," he explained, shrugging like it wasn't a big deal.

But it _was_ a big deal. 

Taeyong hadn't had anything other than acidic, watery coffee for months, and it wasn't even something they had every day. Ever since the war had started and Taeyong was called to serve as a nurse at that little military base in the middle of nowhere, the closest he came to trying something sweet was at Christmas, when the East military base sent a crate of apples that a peasant family had donated to help and lift the soldier's spirits. And even that time, there wasn't enough apples for everyone, so they had to chop them in quarters so everyone could get a piece.

So, latte? _With sugar?_

It was like a dream. 

"Thank you," he said, moved, placing the thermos aside and reaching for Ten's hands to take them between his own. They were cold as always, and Taeyong rubbed them with his palms in hopes that the friction would warm them up a little. "You should drink the rest," he suggested, "you have a long day ahead, and if you didn't get enough sleep..."

"I'm fine, really. I had a cup of coffee before coming back here," he added, seeing that Taeyong wasn't convinced. "I brought this for you."

"Lieutenant Colonel Lee," pronounced Taeyong in a threatening tone, and he had to hold back a chuckle when the poor man straightened his back out of pure reflex, "please take a sip. No, not one, make it three."

"Yes, sir," he replied, obediently grabbing the thermos. His posture was rigid and his voice serious, but Taeyong could clearly see the glint of playfulness in his dark eyes. "Oh, it's good. A little too sweet for my liking, though."

"There's no such thing as too sweet."

Ten smiled, "No, there isn't."

"Taeyong! The truck is here!"

"Coming!" Taeyong shouted back, closing the cabinet of medical supplies that he had been organizing and heading towards the entrance of the tent.

The sun was at its highest point in the sky, and Taeyong silently thanked God that there weren't any clouds. They had had a difficult week, with half of the medical team assigned to another military base and the entire section assembled there, plus five or six days in which it didn't stop raining at all...

Yeah, Taeyong was glad that it was finally sunny. And that the truck, although two days late, was there. 

Two soldiers hopped out of the truck and opened the back doors, and Taeyong and two other nurses hurried to help them unload the boxes. Once they were done, Taeyong counted them and frowned.

"There's not even one box of medical supplies," he pointed out, looking at the truck's driver with inquisitory eyes. "We usually get three every other week, but the last one we received was three weeks ago."

The soldier raised his eyebrows, unimpressed, and Taeyong already knew where this was heading to.

"So? We brought the food, and you're still asking for more?"

"We're running out of medical supplies," Taeyong explained calmly as if he was talking to a toddler. "We won't have any by next week. Especially if the delivery comes two days late, like today."

"Listen here, you little shit," sissed the other soldier, stepping forward and totally invading Taeyong's personal space. Taeyong didn't step back. "Who do you think you are, to be demanding explanations? Huh? You think there are enough medical supplies to spare?"

"There are," he replied simply. "The field hospital of the East military base has less than fifty patients, and they're not in critical condition. But here," he continued, signalling the medical tent behind him with a gesture of his head, "we keep checking-in soldiers that aren't even stable enough to make it to your base. _A two-hour ride._ "

The man laughed bitterly.

"Oh, so the nurse can talk back?" he mocked, disdain dripping from his voice as he leaned back to study Taeyong from head to toe. "What do you know about the correct way of handling supplies in the middle of a war, huh? What do you know about war? You're just sitting here in a safe and cosy tent, eating two meals a day, barely doing anything, and yet you have the nerve to complain that there's not enough gauze to clean a little blood?"

"I hope that the day you actually get hurt, you get a nurse as good as Taeyong to take care of you." Taeyong turned back to see Ten, helmet under his arm and goggles hanging loose from his neck, walking firmly towards them. There wasn't even a hint of the sweet man Taeyong knew by heart, only a poker face and a dismissing look in his dark eyes. "That is, of course, if you ever actually leave the base for something other than being the delivery man." The soldier stepped back, his pale face giving away that he didn't expect to be called out like that by a superior. "Now leave. And make sure to bring the medical supplies tomorrow morning, or I'm going to the base myself."

The threat was implicit.

The other soldier turned to Taeyong.

"How many boxes do you need?"

"We can manage with three, thank you very much."

The soldier nodded, and soon enough, they were gone. As the nurses and a few boys approached them to help carry the boxes inside, Taeyong quirked up an eyebrow at Ten. 

"Flying again?" he asked, noticing that the man was wearing his pilot uniform instead of the regular one. 

Ten nodded, "We have another reconnaissance mission. Just my squadron, not the whole wing, so they're gonna stay here."

"This early? It's barely 1 PM."

"Yeah, but we have to stop by the East military base for a meeting."

In Taeyong's experience, meetings before a mission weren't good. While routine reconnaissance missions only took a few hours, whenever Ten was called for a meeting prior, he would end up disappearing for whole days. 

"When are you taking off?" Ten smiled at him apologetically, and Taeyong sighed. "Right. You can't tell me."

"I'm sorry, love." Ten reached out for him. His gloved hands cupped Taeyong's face with all the delicacy he was capable of, his thumbs caressing his cheeks as he tried to lock eyes with the nurse. "I'll be back in a few days, okay? Tell Yuta if you need anything, he's left in charge while I'm gone."

"Yuta is left in charge? God help us."

Ten laughed, "God help us indeed."

With a playful wink, Ten let go of Taeyong's face —only to grab one of his hands, placing a chaste kiss on his knuckles. 

"Don't get into a dogfight, please," asked Taeyong.

"I'll try."

Back in his tent after wrapping up the day, Taeyong smiled. Over his thin pillow lied a small bouquet of wildflowers, not even five of them, but enough to spread out a sweet aroma in a four-meter radio. 

Trying not to wake up the rest of the medical team that slept in the same tent as him, he looked for a vase and poured half of the pitcher of water in it, making sure that the stems were fully submerged. 

He fell asleep admiring the flowers.

"Yuta, you bastard! Give it back to me!"

"This is my bread! Go get your own!"

"Excuse me?! That's mine!"

"Blah, blah, can't hear you." Yuta grinned, mischief dancing in his eyes as he waved a hand above Ten's head. "Try growing up a few more centimetres, can't hear you from up here."

"I'm filling an official report about you, let's see who laughs then."

"Reporting me won't magically make you grow, y'know."

"No, but at least it'll put you on your knees when they punish you for disrespecting a superior. Then I'll be taller than you."

Yuta slapped Ten's arm, his eyes going dramatically big.

"You wouldn't!"

"Try me?"

"They're like children," commented a voice behind Taeyong, who was watching the scene from behind the counter that separated the dining area from the improvised kitchen. Taeyong looked over his shoulder. 

Doyoung, one of the two doctors they had in the medical team, was studying the two men bickering in the opposite corner of the tent with an amused smile. Despite how serious his voice tone was, Taeyong knew that, in fact, Doyoung liked those kinds of nights. They all did. The kind of nights when everyone was there and no one was out on a mission, when Taeyong and the other two nurses that helped him with the cooking managed to make something tasty with the three or four ingredients they had, when no one was dying in the medical tent. Those nights were rare, but they did happen once in a while. 

And despite how childish Ten sounded whenever he picked up a silly fight with Yuta, Taeyong adored seeing him like that —laughing, carefree, relaxed. Happy.

  
Not that Ten was the type of man who would show his worries, fear, sadness or tiredness; on the contrary, he was always bubbling with energy, smiling and cheering for his teammates. He was, above all, a caring and loving captain for his team, even through hard times. Especially through hard times.

But as much as Taeyong loved how Ten would always prioritize others, he would also find it concerning. Ten was everything a leader should be, and that worried him. 

How easy would it be for Ten to take a bullet for one of his teammates? 

Taeyong had an approximate idea, and he didn't like the answer to that question.

"You're zoning out."

Taeyong sighed, and Doyoung put a hand on his shoulder. They didn't need to say anything —they both knew. 

It was easier to fear for the upcoming, inevitable bad days when they were living a happy one. It was easier to see how much they could lose because it was right in front of their eyes.

His gloomy mood didn't last, though, because soon enough the whole section was marching out of the tent to clean up a little and go to sleep, and a minute later Ten approached him with a smile. 

"You're beautiful today," Ten stated, taking a strand of Taeyong's hair and putting it behind his ear. His adoring eyes studied every aspect of his face, committing it to memory, and Taeyong's stomach did a flip under his attention. "You always are. My beautiful rose," he murmured fondly, raising a hand to stroke Taeyong's hair, then letting it rest on his nape. Ten raised his own chin and pressed a light kiss on his forehead before stepping back, still smiling, and Taeyong genuinely thought that Ten was the most gorgeous man he ever laid his eyes on. "Let's clean up, shall we?"

"You don't have to help me, you know," commented Taeyong, picking up a tray with several bowls and plates precariously stacked on it.

"I do know," acknowledged Ten, picking up two trays and following Taeyong on his way out, "but I want to. You've been working all day."

"You as well."

"True." They stopped by the old pitcher pump, right beside the medical tent, and Taeyong took a moment to look up to the sky. "But you keep working even when everyone goes to sleep. Me included."

"I'm doing my job," stated Taeyong, crouching and extending an arm to bring the rather big basin closer. He looked up to Ten, who was rolling up the sleeves of his uniform, and smiled when he began to work on the water pump. "Such a gentleman."

Ten hummed, his muscles tensing as he pushed down the handle. It was quite a sight.

"This is why I never skip physical training."

Taeyong chuckled. "Is pumping water to do the dishes your life goal?"

"Helping you is," Ten replied, winking at him. Taeyong rolled his eyes. "Do we have another basin? Bring it here, I'll help."

If you asked Taeyong a year ago where he imagined he would be in a year from that point, washing dishes with a threadbare sponge and lit by a kerosene lantern would not have been one of his options. It was oddly peaceful, though, but that may have had something to do with the man sitting beside him. Ten was focused on his task, his side profile barely defined under the dim light, his dark eyes transfixed on the large bowl he was trying to rinse. 

Ten would only spend three or four days a week at the base Taeyong lived in due to the recurring reconnaissance missions and meetings he was called to, but he always tried to make the most of it. It wasn't easy, because he had a good thirty men under his orders and Taeyong always had something to do or someone to take care of, but they managed. More often than not, Ten would end up helping Taeyong with whatever he was doing —be it doing an inventory check, chopping whatever they had to make a decent dinner, or, of course, doing the dishes, only to spend some time with him without it costing them precious hours of sleep. 

"Thank you," he said as they carried the clean dishes back inside. Ten smiled.

"It's nothing, really."

"It is."

Something must have given him away, because as soon as the trays, bowls and plates were neatly displayed over the counter to let them dry, Ten turned to him and gave him an inquisitory look.

"What is it?" he asked, but the nurse looked away. Ten stepped closer and put a gentle hand on his hips, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb. He didn't attempt to make Taeyong look at him, but he did ask again, softly this time, "Taeyong, what's wrong?"

"Will you stay with me?" Taeyong asked back.

Ten seemed to understand that it wasn't a random question.

And Taeyong knew that it wasn't something Ten could promise either, but he needed to hear the answer.

"Of course. Always," Ten replied, leaning closer to deposit a sweet kiss on his cheek. His lips were cold from the chilly night, but their touch sent a wave of reassuring warmth through Taeyong's body. "You worked hard today," he murmured, "let's go to sleep."

Taeyong nodded. Hand in hand, they left the tent.

"They sent our medical team to the closest trench."

Yuta looked up. Ten's gaze was unreadable, fixed on some point in front of him.

They were coming back from a particularly long mission, and as exhausted as they were, none of them could sleep on their ride to the East military base. They had lost seven men. And the rattle of the van resembled the engine noise of their fighter aircraft. Somehow. 

Yuta didn't say anything.

With the advance of the enemy and the critical situation in the nearest trench, the order to overfly the area and buy some time for the troops and the medical team to retreat didn't take long to arrive. Of course, only one squadron was authorized to take off and not the entire wing —they couldn't afford to risk that many soldiers, not after losing a quarter of the team ten days ago.

Regardless of Colonel Qian's protests, Ten was the first one to hop on his fighter aircraft. On the other hand, Yuta knew that Ten didn't accept the mission because Taeyong was one of those in the trench, but because he would never send one of his squadrons only to sit and wait for them to come back. 

So he let him go, promising that he would take care of the small military base and that he would have everything ready to receive the wounded. Ten gave him a final look before putting on his goggles and turn his back on him.

Yuta smiled. He'd be back. 


	2. Part II

It seemed like he was living a neverending nightmare.

In the flesh?

When Taeyong first arrived to the trench, he honestly thought that _that_ was the worst possible scenario. They barely had any food at all, and the few cans left were monopolized for the higher ranking officers. There were exactly three packets of gauze left. Half a bottle of alcohol. If not for the box of medical supplies that Taeyong had brought with him...

Then what? It's not like it would have made a difference anyway. There were too many wounds to treat, too many people severly bleeding, too many soldiers that had lost a limb. Or two.

It terrified him at first, how useless he felt. And how the bombs seemed to land closer to the trench every time. And how the only shelter they had was a hole dug in the ground.

But the thing that genuinely terrified him the most was how he himself became numb with the passing of the days —soon enough he realized that he was no longer affected by the putrid odor of the dead, or the screams of the soldiers, or the fact that the only thing he could do for them was to apply some pressure on their wounds to stop the bleeding, only to have their lives slipping through his fingers over and over again.

When he first heard the rumble of fighter aircraft, he actually felt relieved. It was over. There was no way that they could resist an aerial attack. It was finally over.

The momentary lapse of inner peace didn't last, though, because soon some sub-officer was shouting something about getting their asses moving and start running. Taeyong didn't get it at first. Why would they run? Where would they escape to?

But then he looked up. Those weren't enemy aircraft.

Then that meant…

Something clicked, and then the sub-officer’s face wasn’t his, but Ten’s, and he was prompting him to run, to save himself, to escape from the nightmare that, it seemed, was finally coming to an halt.

Taeyong ran. He ran as fast and hard as he could, for Death was once again breathing on his neck and he suddenly cared. He cared to put as much distance between him and that hell as he could, he cared to see Ten one more time, he cared to live.

He ran until a militar truck spotted him and gave him a lift, dropping him by the small military base that Taeyong had missed as it was his own home. And it was, at some point. As long as Ten was there, it was.

But Ten wasn’t there. Yuta told him that, in fact, Ten was one of the soldiers flying the fighter aircraft that he had seen earlier.

Exhaustion, hunger, pain and fear finally took over, and Taeyong passed out.

Taeyong woke up to a gentle hand caressing his hair, careful fingers carding through the strands. Even with his eyes closed, he recognized Ten’s touch. He smelled like smoke, but it was definitely him.

Taeyong was still too physically drained to move, but he hummed lowly in approval, letting Ten know that he was awake.

“Rest, love. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Taeyong managed to smile.

Just as war was seemingly coming to its end, barely a week after Taeyong had returned from the trenches, Ten ordered the transfer of the medical team and the entire military unit to the East military base. When Taeyong asked him why, Ten smiled at him and said that it was a kind of a strategic regrouping and that there was no point in keeping that small military base running on its own. “But we’re staying here at least a week more,” he had said.

That's why he grew suspicious when two days later, at like 3 PM, Ten took the whole medical team and the squad to get supplies. The ride to the principal basement was silent, and Taeyong didn’t try to ask Ten what was going on because the soldier didn’t seem affected or worried at all.

He knew that something was off, though, when Ten stopped him from gathering medical supplies as soon as they arrived.

"You're staying here."

"Me?"

"Yes, you, the medical team and the platoon."

Taeyong quirked an eyebrow.

"And you?"

Ten was telling him that he had some things to take care of when they heard the first bomb.

Taeyong tensed up. Ten closed his eyes for a moment, probably to keep his shit together, and the nurse felt a shiver running down his spine. He already knew where this was heading to.

"You knew."

Ten made a sour face and nodded, "We did."

With a faint smile, Ten turned to leave —but just as he was about to hop on his night fighter, Taeyong panicked. He had never felt that Ten was in danger. Never. Until that very moment.

Taeyong hated himself for that, but he found himself feeling genuinely terrified.

You see, Taeyong was afraid of heights, but he had never feared for Ten. Not a single time —because, as naïve as it may seem, he had learned that Ten always came back. The first time Ten that had promised him with overwhelming confidence that he’d be back, Taeyong was skeptical. How could he promise such a thing so light-heartedly? In the middle of a war?

But Ten kept his word. No matter how long it took him, time after time, mission after mission, he always came back.

But this time was different. Taeyong had a bad feeling. If he was being irrational because of his own experience in the trenches, the unexpectedness of the sudden attack or something else, he had no idea.

Ten must have sensed that something was off, because he approached him again and studied his face for a solid thirty seconds seconds before taking his hands to his own nape. Taeyong felt tears prodding the back of his eyes when he understood what Ten was doing.

Silently, the soldier offered him his identification tag.

“No.”

“Please, take it.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Taeyong…”

“I can’t, Ten. How am I… how are they going to recognize you if…?” Taeyong swallowed hard, “If you…?”

“Taeyong,” Ten said, softly, stopping his train of thought, ”if I thought that I’m not going to make it, if I thought that there’s a chance of me not coming back —I’d never give you my dog tag. I want to be recognized.” Ten held his slightly shaking hands between his own, closing them around the cold metal, locking eyes with him. “I’ll come back.”

As they heard a second bomb, Ten left.

It was almost eight when the wing came back, but Ten wasn’t with them. And neither was Yuta.

One of the soldiers explained that Ten had tried to cover up for Yuta when his engine started to unexpectedly fail, and his own aircraft was shot as a result. They had received the direct order to go back, and the last thing they knew about their captain was that he was forced to make an emergency landing —and that Yuta stayed behind with him.

“He’s excellent. They both are,” said Hendery reassuringly, patting Taeyong’s back. He was one of Ten’s teammates, part of his same squadron. “He probably made it safely. We just have to wait.”

Taeyong wasn’t listening.

He wasn’t worried about Ten's skills. He was worried because the Commandant, the highest authority in the East base, didn’t want to send a group to find Yuta and Ten because it wasn’t safe yet, which meant that he was probably expecting another aerial attack. And if that was the case, how the hell would Ten be okay, with a broken plane and no shelter at all?

They sent a small group to examine the bombarded area and to search for Ten and Yuta the next day, and Taeyong waited impatiently for their return. But four hours later, Taeyong was told that the only thing they had found was Ten's plane, crashed and burnt, and Yuta's too, seemingly intact. And nothing else.

The night came. Another day passed by. And then the night came again. At the third day, Taeyong started to feel genuinely desperate. He couldn’t eat, sleep or do his job properly. But it was strange —he did feel desperation creeping inside him, but he also felt the crushing weight of calm on his heart, a heavy cloak of serenity with Ten’s promise embroidered on it, telling him that everything was okay. That Ten would always came back to him.

Taeyong breathed in, then let out a shaky exhale.

Ten would be back. He just had to wait a little more.

The fourth day, just as he was serving an early dinner but refusing to have a plate because he was pretty sure that he couldn’t eat anything without throwing up, he heard some distant cheering.

"You think war is over?" he joked half-heartedly to Doyoung, who scoffed.

A deep voice called for a doctor from the hall, and the two men exchanged glances. Doyoung got up and Taeyong decided to walk with him to the entrance, curious.

Taeyong didn't know exactly what he had been waiting for, but it certainly wasn't the scene unfolding before his eyes. Ten and Yuta, standing in the center of the hall, visibly hurt and pale, but smiling.

It only took a second for Ten to see Taeyong.

Ten's smile widened and his eyes sparkled, and he quickly disentangled himself from Yuta despite his weak state to walk towards him, arm extended, trembling hand reaching out for him. He was probably aiming for the nurse’s hand to give it a squeeze and say hi, just as they used to do when they were in public, but Taeyong pulled him in a hug.

Ten could barely keep himself standing and Taeyong gladly supported his weight, pouring all his longing, fear and anguish into the embrace, his arms tightly wrapped around the soldier, his hands clutching onto his clothes as if he could disappear at any moment.

"Taeyong, what's wrong?" Taeyong didn’t answer, but Ten seemed to understand. He nuzzled his cheek against the nurse's neck, and, softly, almost as if it was a secret, said: "It's okay, love. I'm here."

“Breathe in. This will hurt.”

Ten hissed as Taeyong pressed a gauze soaked in alcohol against a deep cut in his forearm. He had been trying to distract Taeyong by telling him how exactly they had managed to go back to the military base, walking nonstop for almost four days, but his efforts were proven to be useless when the nurse arched an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.

“It does hurt. Can’t you chop my arm off or something?”

“Of course. Be right back.”

“WAIT,” Ten almost shouted, managing to grab Taeyong’s wrist before he could go anywhere. “A kiss will do. No need for such drastic measures.”

Taeyong sat again, an amused grin pulling from his lips.

“A kiss?”

Ten nodded, serious. “You know. For the pain.”

Taeyong chuckled. He finished cleaning Ten’s wounds in silence, giving him a pat in the head once he was done. Ten seemed comically relieved that the torture was finally over.

“You’re too whiny for my liking,” Taeyong stated, offering him a cup of hot tea. Ten scrunched his nose, but accepted it anyway. He wouldn’t have dared go against Taeyong in his current state, when he could barely stand on his own feet.

“And you’re too handsome,” Ten said back, batting his eyelashes.

Taeyong scoffed. But just as Ten thought that they were back to their usual and playful bickering, the other man pulled out a long silver chain from his pocket and placed it on Ten’s lap. His dog tag.

Taeyong’s face was serious now, and Ten could vividly recall how he had clung onto him for dear life earlier that night, like he couldn’t believe he was real, like he could be… gone. Ten knew that feeling like the back of his hand and it pained him that he was the one inflicting it to Taeyong, because he couldn’t stand the idea of Taeyong suffering. Not for him, not for anyone.

Not that he could walk away anyway.

Ten took one of Taeyong’s hands between his, raising the other to brush the strands off his eyes with upmost care, admiring every inch of his face like he was the most precious thing on Earth.

"I mean it when I say that I’ll always come back, you know."

Taeyong sighed. "I know you mean it, Ten. But we're in the middle of a war. You can't blame me for fearing never seeing you again."

"I'd never do that, love. But you have to give me a little more credit." Taeyong frowned. He seemed ready to argue, probably to say something like he trusted Ten's skills, but Ten placed a finger against his lips, softly, delicately. "I want you to be okay. To keep doing the flawless work you do, without any dark thoughts clouding your mind," he said tenderly, his dark eyes shining with pure, raw affection. Taeyong felt like he could cry, “Okay?”

He couldn’t promise that. How could he tell his mind not to care and his heart not to hurt when Ten was away? How could he focus solely on his work when he, his personal sun, the love of his life, could never come back?

But Ten would often make way more risky promises with the sole purpose of soothing him while he was gone, so Taeyong might as well take a leap of faith.

"Okay."

"And I" he added, taking Taeyong's hands between his, caressing his knuckles with affection and raising them to kiss the back of his hands with something bordering on devotion, "will always come back to you, no matter how long it takes me."

Taeyong smiled.

"Is that a promise?"

"Of course."

"Mhm."

Ten beamed, amused.

"What is that, love? Are you doubting me?"

"Not at all. It's just that it's a little bit unfair." Ten tilted his head, confused, and Taeyong had to keep himself from cooing. "Can't I think about you at all while you're gone? Not even a bit?"

Ten laughed.

"Mhm. Maybe a little. Only good things, of course."

"Of course," he agreed, intertwining their fingers and freeing the other hand to caress Ten's cheek. He leaned into the touch, smiling and closing his eyes at the warm, soothing feeling of Taeyong's skin against his. He let out an almost imperceptible sigh, but Taeyong could swear that he felt its heaviness in his own bones. The exhaustion, the tension finally disipating, the relief of being safe. "Let's put you to sleep."

Ten displayed a lazy smile and let himself be manhandled into a more comfortable position. Taeyong treated his body with all the delicacy he was capable of, placing his head on the pillow and tucking him in with the thin blanket. He brought a couple more since they weren’t being used by anyone, getting comfortable on the chair next to the bed. Forearms and forehead resting over the thin mattress and fingertips barely brushing Ten's hand, Taeyong fell asleep a few minutes later.

As Ten approached his bed with two cups of coffee, Taeyong smiled.

“How was the meeting? How’s peace going?”

Ten sat on the edge of the mattress, sipping from his cup as he shrugged nonchalantly. His eyes, however, weren’t as shiny as they usually were.

“I really wish you could go home,” he said in a whisper.

Taeyong understood. Sighing, he intertwined their fingers. “I wish you could go home too.”

Sooner than Taeyong expected, the North coast was under attack.

Squad after squad, Taeyong watched as hundreds of soldiers attended the call for reinforcements. It seemed like the main aerial group was not doing so well, because on top of the ships, the enemy had aerial backup too. Sitting quietly with the rest of the medical team, Taeyong spent his morning waiting patiently to be called too, but for some reason the call never arrives. He was surprised to see that Ten didn’t go. When asked about it, Ten shook his head no.

"My wing is one of the few that has night fighters. We're the last resource."

So that was why.

Taeyong wasn’t stupid. He knew that if they could afford not calling every reinforcement they had right away, it was because the situation wasn’t as bad as it seemed. But, you see, the thing was... they _were_ calling for every reinforcement they had, except for the squads that had night equipment. Which could only mean one thing: they weren’t shutting off the invasion any time soon. And they knew it. That’s why they weren’t calling the night fighters: because they expected the battle to keep going until the night.

But the definitive call came way sooner than Taeyong expected: it was barely 5 PM when Ten approached Taeyong to say goodbye. Ten's smile was as bright as always, not a shred of doubt or worry in his eyes, so Taeyong smiled back.

"Leaving so soon?"

Ten hummed, "Don't worry, I won't let them get to you," he said in a joking tone, but the words came off so strong that Taeyong felt his heart shrinking in his chest. Of course they were past every possible tragic farewell, and humor was the only thing that kept them sane through the last months. That, and...

"I love you," Taeyong said, but then he raised a finger, "but if I have to stitch you up one more time I swear to God..."

Ten laughed, the sound reverberating in the hall and waking up the butterflies in Taeyong’s stomach. "You won't have to, don't worry."

Taeyong knew that already.

Ten took off his identification tags and offered them to Taeyong silently, just as he had done a week ago, when he promised to come back. This time, though, when Taeyong smiled and mustered a quiet "keep them", Ten didn’t argue.

He wanted to be recognized, after all, and Taeyong knew it.


	3. Epilogue

It's freezing when Taeyong spots the place where Ten is waiting for him, but he doesn't mind. The cold wind sweeps away the clouds, and the warm rays of sunlight reach for his face to gently caress his cheeks.

Flowers in hand and a soft, fond smile pulling from the corners of his mouth, Taeyong walks down the few meters left until their meeting point. He stops there, gently pulling from his coat to fully cover his butt before sitting on the cold ground.

"Happy birthday, Tennie!"

Taeyong crosses his legs to get somewhat comfortable and leans forward, offering the bouquet of flowers. They probably won't last much in this weather, but he doesn't mind. He can get new ones next week.

"Do you like them?" When he doesn't get an answer, Taeyong scrunches his nose. "I know, I know it's not the usual bouquet, but I thought I could try something new? You know, since it's your birthday and all. They're... Okay, hold on a sec." Taeyong shoves his free hand in one of his pockets, pulling out a tiny piece of paper a second after. His eyes struggle to read the odd handwriting. "They're... Orn... ornithogalum um- umbellatum? I think? Dunno, I really can't decipher the florist's handwriting. But they're pretty, aren't they?"

He carefully lays the bouquet on the ground, grateful that he picked a rather large one so it doesn't get blown away by the wind. The white flowers match the marble gravestone, but contrast heavily against the dark soil.

"They're also called Star of Bethlehem," he continues, his eyes still studying the pointy petals, "and I thought it matched you well. You know how it guided the Three Magi? Well, I'm certainly no Magi," Taeyong laughs softly, "but you're still my guiding star." He pauses, his eyes tracing Ten's name. "You know that thing you told me once? That I should keep doing my thing, without any dark thoughts clouding my mind? And that in return, you'd come back to me?"

Taeyong uncrosses his legs, balancing his weight on his toes for a moment before kneeling and leaning forward once more. He takes the bouquet, unties the lace and gently unwrappes the flowers, tossing the paper aside and placing them closer to the gravestone.

"Well, I'm doing just that. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you sooner, but... I guess I wasn't ready to admit that you were right," he chuckles. "I do allow myself to think about you from time to time, though. Only good things, of course," he adds quickly, as if he was afraid that Ten could get fake-offended or something.

The thought amuses him.

Taeyong takes in a deep breath, but it does nothing to soothe the heaviness in his chest. Silence takes over for a few minutes, only briefly interrupted by a couple of birds chirping in a distant tree.

"You did well, love," he finally says, softly. "My beautiful star. I'll go back to you some day, okay? Will you wait for me?"

The wind blows once more, pushing one of the flowers away from the gravestone and closer to his feet.

He takes it as a «yes».

_J_ _ust as no stars can be seen, we are stars and we'll beam on our town_

_We must all gather as one_

_Sing with hope and the fear will be gone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's the end!
> 
> please let me know what you think. I put a lot of effort into this, so I'll gladly take all the feedback you can give me!

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea in mind for a while, and since after finals week I haven't been able to write a single sentence on my other work, Odd Eye, I thought I could give this a try to help my writer's block.  
> Hope you like it!


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